Slobodan Milosovic and my part in his downfall (retrospectively speaking) Part 1

In 1999 it all kicked off in a little place called; Kosovo.  Our esteemed leader at the time was Tony Blair who, not being one to miss an opportunity to “mix things up”, popped over to the US to speak with Big Bill Clinton.  Using his Derren Brown level mind control techniques, he convinced Big Bill to attack Serbian forces near Kosovo, in exchange for some Um Bongo, and a multipack of Hubba Bubba.

As I was in the RAF, Some time later I found myself in Kosovo staring at a map, wearing mostly green.

As it was still too dangerous to travel alone, I had set out early to an appointment, on the other side of Pristina (Kosovan capital) with a colleague.  He had convinced me to travel to a place of local legend, whilst we still had plenty of time.  I never saw this place, but there was rumored to be a village where the inhabitants had not allowed breeding outside of their tiny community.  This resulted in the village becoming known as “The Kingdom of The Jaffa Heads”.  I can’t imagine why.  

As my colleague was a fucking useless cunt, we got completely lost.  We were going to be ridiculously late unless I could get a grip of our map.  And if it’s one thing you get fucked for in the forces, it’s being late.  And when it comes to fucking, I like to be the “fucker” and not the “fuckee”.

The problem was, although I found where I needed to be, and I could see where I was, the said 2 points were separated by a field.  The field had a lovely hand made sign with the word “minat” on it.  For those of you who don’t see the problem:  Minat meant Mines, as in landmines, as in instantaneous, horrifically painful, and emotionally upsetting for all, explosive death.  

I tried to engage a couple of locals in conversation, to try to find a way around it.  Unfortunately, the only Serbo-Croat I bothered to learn was “stop or I’ll kill you”.  Take it from me, this is not the way to get someone to help you get around a mine field.  By now, I was getting pretty fucked off.  The Landrover we were in was baking hot.  My colleague was getting right up my fucking nose, and I was already starting to picture the beasting I’m gonna get when I eventually turn up late.  

“Right!” I shout.  “Get in the fucking Landy now!”  as I clearly lost my fucking mind.  I starts the engine and did something I would never have done before, and would never do again.  I pointed at our destination, and drove the 25 m or so, through the minefield.  Fuck you Minat, and the horse you rode in on.  

As I hit the embankment that led to the field, the Landy pitches, and all I can see is the clear sky.  I thought to myself  “this is what heaven will look like in abut 20 seconds”  But no explosions, no nothing.  
My colleague says nothing for the rest of the trip, in fact he never speaks to me again.  We made the appointment on time too, with bollocks, and all other vital organs completely intact.  All in all, a complete fucking result.

When I started writing this, I wanted it to have a moral about being thoughtless. Now I think about it, the moral appears to be if you’re late and a bit stressed it’s OK to act a bit suicidal.  I don’t want it to be that so......erm......the moral iiiiiis.........I dunno, just make something up.